


Pandora's Box (of less than angelic thoughts and urges)

by ximeria



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Making an Effort (Good Omens), Mutual Pining, Stupid decisions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 18:11:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20568686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ximeria/pseuds/ximeria
Summary: It's three steps forward, four steps back, half a step to the right and a 3/4 step to the left.With their head offices no longer making demands and knowing about them, Aziraphale feels that it's about time they do something about this unspoken thing between them. And then come the second and third thoughts. What if Crowley's moved on, what if Aziraphale is making him uncomfortable with his advances?How damned inconvenient to be in the possession of a human vessel with all the bells and whistles and only your hand and your fantasies to sate it.





	Pandora's Box (of less than angelic thoughts and urges)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Meinposhbastard as always, for pointing out that something needs fixed, then what needs fixed and then giving me the green light to post XD - this story would only be half as good without your input.
> 
> The footnotes are linked to the bottom, link to take you back. If you're on a desktop/non-mobile browser, you can also hover your mouse over the text just before the footnote and get it that way.

Aziraphale looked down down at Crowley's hand on the table. It was so very close to his, actually, close enough that their skin was touching. It looked picture perfect against the pristine table cloth of the Ritz table.

Oh, right, he thought to himself, they didn't really have to be so careful anymore, did they? All through the years, the centuries - and if he was honest with himself - the millennia, they'd been careful to not touch too often. An accidental brush, here and there, that was all.

He flushed warmly as he recalled the moment, not terribly long ago, in the rebuilt monastery, of Crowley grabbing him and slamming him up against the wall. Well, slamming was perhaps the wrong word to use. Firmly pressed was probably better. It had caught him off guard, but Aziraphale could tell that while Crowley had been upset, he had been careful to not do any damage.

Aziraphale bit his lower lip and put his hand on top of Crowley's. It felt like a small jolt of electricity ran through the palm of his hand, his skin feeling hot and sensitive where they were touching.

A sound made him look up. Crowley was staring at their hands, expressive eyes hidden behind the sunglasses.

Oh dear, perhaps it hadn't been the right thing to do after all! It was possible that Aziraphale might have read something into the situation that he shouldn't have. 

"Ah, dessert," Aziraphale said, almost desperate to save the situation. He'd read it wrong, hadn't he? He lifted his hand - careful to not do it so fast Crowley would think something was wrong and reached for the dessert menu.

And that was it. After a few minutes, it seemed that Crowley was back to his usual talkative self and Aziraphale didn't dare ask or do anything to rock the boat, so to speak.

The rest of the evening was nothing out of the ordinary and well back at his bookshop[1], Aziraphale sat down in his favourite chair and sipped from his cup of hot chocolate. He'd been ever so sure that Crowley had been interested and wanted the same things that he did, and he'd always been of the conviction that he'd been the one who'd needed the slowest of slow approaches.

However, it seemed like he'd been wrong and _if_ Crowley was indeed interested, then he'd need to move even slower. Could be he'd lost interest as Aziraphale had hesitated over the years.

Aziraphale sighed and took another sip. He'd been overjoyed when he'd felt the brush of Crowley's hand. They had rarely touched, and the longest had been the few handshakes over the years.

Entering the Arrangement(tm).

Shaking hands on the plan to oversee the anti-christ-who-wasn't.

Holding onto each other's hands while shifting between their bodies.

Aziraphale swallowed hard. That had been… so very intimate. To look at himself in the mirror and see Crowley's eyes staring back at him. He almost wished he'd had the gall to explore the body when he'd had it, but he hadn't been able to bring himself to do so. It would have been a breach of trust[2].

But he was thinking about it _now_, wasn't he?

Undoing his bowtie, Aziraphale paused, fingers close to the skin of his throat. Then, as a second thought, undid the top two buttons. His human body was occasionally a little inconvenient with its biological reactions to stimuli.

Just the thought of what he might have done if he'd been uncouth enough was enticing. Or if he'd been more of a bastard than Crowley would have expected him to be, was enough to make him feel flushed and a little out of sorts.

Resting his free hand on his thigh, he rubbed his suddenly damp palm on the trousers. How very inconvenient and… interesting. It wasn't that he hadn't skirted the idea of how attractive Crowley was before, but he'd always derailed those thoughts before they could become… more. 

Would it be right to have these thoughts now? Would it be a breach of trust or even their friendship if he did? He looked down and realised that he was rubbing rather precariously close to his crotch and fisted his hand, forcing it to lie still.

Though now that he'd opened his proverbial Pandora's box, the contents would not let themselves be shut away again so easily.

It had felt awkward at first, wearing Crowley's body. Where he was round and soft, Crowley was thin and ...flexible. The thought intruded on Aziraphale. He hadn't managed to walk quite the way that Crowley did, but he felt, even if he'd be allowed to wear the demon's body for a century, he'd never be capable of swivelling his hips the way Crowley did.

Aziraphale carefully set his cup down on the desk. He didn't want to hurtle it to its destruction as he was lost in thoughts he most certainly shouldn't be entertaining. But why shouldn't he? Truly? Up until he'd cut his ties with Heaven and they'd attempted to kill him with hellfire, he'd always hid those thoughts well away, not because he was afraid of Heaven's repercussions towards himself, but more for what it might mean for Crowley's safety[3].

Both Heaven and Hell had their spies among their ranks, he had no doubt. Rumours had to get out somehow.

Of course, their respective trials had proven that the two head offices were perfectly capable of working together when they wanted to. Or their anger at Crowley and himself was at least great enough to make them open channels that would allow them to do so.

Aziraphale reached up and undid another button, and as an afterthought, undid his waistcoat as well.

He wasn't a prude, no matter what some might say, including a certain demon, but Aziraphale hadn't felt comfortable flaunting too much of Crolwey's skin in Hell as he'd been in the tub of holy water. It hadn't been because he'd thought Crowley might mind, but rather that he himself would see too much flesh - the only flesh he'd ever been tempted to touch.

A soft noise escaped him and Aziraphale closed his eyes. He was alone, no one would see him. Dared he act? Another sense memory of inhabiting Crowley's body hit him. The way he'd remembered undressing down to the underwear. He hadn't touched too much, as he'd done so.

Now, his eyes fluttering shut, Aziraphale had a weak moment and the thought would not leave him be. As he undid the rest of the buttons of his shirt, he imagined it being Crowley's shirt. He'd seen him wear button down shirts before.

A flick of the thumb and the button of his trousers was undone, and the zipper was slowly pushed down. He let himself imagine that his own soft flesh was firmer, that when he touched the bulge in his underwear, he was, in fact, caressing Crowley's and not his own.

He was familiar with the human act of self pleasure, self love, but he'd never allowed himself to do so. Not because he felt he'd be doing something wrong, but because he knew it would have sent him down a slippery slope. He'd have thought of Crowley, no doubt about it, and much like forbidden fruit, he'd have wanted more until it would have broken him.

This fear wasn't entirely gone now, but he knew that if they had managed 6,000 years, he could wait a little longer, perhaps chip away at whatever it was keeping Crowley from acting[4].

Rubbing the pads of three fingers over the bulge, Aziraphale keened deep in his throat. He grabbed the armrest of his chair with the other, squeezing hard enough to hear the wood groan. Easing his grip a little, he pressed his fingers a little harder against his erection.

Oh, goodness, that was… He took a deep breath. Then did it again. He could imagine that perhaps Crowley's would be a little thinner, perhaps a little longer. It wasn't like those tight trousers he favoured left much to the imagination.

He closed his fist around the bulge and squeezed, feeling the way his body reacted to the touch. It had to be even better, didn't it? Without the barrier of man-made clothes. He slipped his hand inside the underwear and gasped as he curled his fingers around the hard shaft.

What if he'd had the courage to do this while he'd been in Crowley's body? Just after they'd parted and Crowley had walked, as him, down to survey the burnt down bookshop. If he'd made use of that big bed he'd found in Crowley's flat as he'd wandered it, waiting for their agreed time to rendezvous again.

It had been big, though not as opulent as he'd expected. Aziraphale knew that Crowley quite liked sleeping, but he wondered if Crowley ever lay in the bed and touched himself. Like Aziraphale was now vividly imagining himself doing in Crowley's body.

A low gasp escaped him. The mere thought of laying naked on Crowley's bed, in the demon's body, touching himself was enough to make his cock harden even more.

If this was indeed what humans felt, no wonder they were as fond of sex as they were. It was an exquisite mixture of almost-pain and a rapture that tore through him, spiralling higher and higher. 

Aziraphale moaned and squeezed his eyes shut, hips twitching and rising a little to meet each of his movements. How would it feel in Crowley's body? Would it be a harder thrust upwards? Would he have been writhing more? Like the snake he'd physically been when they'd first met?

He imagined that if he'd done this in Crowley's body, naked spread out on the bed, his hips would have risen higher, his cock would have swollen in his hand and the sheets would have felt like a balm against his heated skin.

Completely lost to his fantasy, Aziraphale wasn't quite ready when his body decided it was done. There was a rush of release through him and Aziraphale was thrown back into reality as his own semen hit his chest and his body convulsed and was suffused by the most delightful pleasure.

"Good L-" Aziraphale muttered, then stopped himself. Perhaps this was not the best time to take Her name in vain[5].

Lust? Carnal lust did not cover this… feeling.

"A love that does not dare speak its name," he mumbled, the words leaving his lips before he could even hope to stop them. Closing his eyes he let out a slow breath. Love. If he could just have convinced himself it was all lust, then so be it. He was an angelic being, even if Heaven had turned him away. He'd have been able to handle lust[6].

It was the love that he knew he couldn't ignore. That he knew he didn't _want_ to ignore.

Heaven's propaganda had always taught him that demons had no capacity for love, but Aziraphale felt it couldn't be entirely true. Because they also said that no angel could feel lust, and quite frankly, that was absolute and utter bullshit.

If he could feel lust, then surely Crowley could feel love.

If lust had been all it was, Aziraphale reasoned again, silently, as he waved his hand and cleaned the remnants of his little indiscretion away, then Crowley wouldn't have reacted the way he had when Aziraphale had touched his _hand_. If he'd wanted to merely bed Aziraphale, he surely would have taken the touch as invitation?

If Crowley could give him 6,000 years to catch up, then surely Aziraphale could give him the time he needed to be willing to touch? It wasn't like Aziraphale was going to just go up and hug him, though that thought was as pleasant as the thought of having sex with him was.

Aziraphale did his clothes back up and sat back in the chair. The thought of sharing space, of sitting together, curled up in each other, washed through him with an unprecedented rush of joy.

The next time a situation presented itself, Aziraphale almost blew it all by being so hyper focused on it that Crowley became more than a little suspicious.

They were having a quiet night in and as Aziraphale had reached out to take a bottle of wine from Crowley, they'd brushed fingers. It was almost like a small crackle of electricity. It ran up his arm, through is shoulder and made his wings twitch, unseen, but very much felt. He almost dropped the bottle.

This time, unlike at the Ritz, Crowley wasn't wearing his sunglasses and Aziraphale could see the widening of his eyes for a moment, before he hid it behind his glass, feigning an interest in one of the tomes on the side table.

"1001 nights," Crowley read out loud. Then his cheeks coloured and Aziraphale bit his lower lip, trying very hard not to laugh out loud. It wasn't an edition one would find in a bastardised version for children. This was one of the oldest ones, and a collection that held quite a few decidedly erotic tales as well.

And Crowley obviously knew.

"Yes, I recently came into possession of this one - it wasn't easy to get my hands on it," Aziraphale admitted, watching Crowley like a hawk. He hadn't even left the book there on purpose.

Crowley cleared his throat and grinned, a little more of his usual attitude again. "Didn't think you'd have something like that in your collection, is all."

"Oh, I have amassed quite the collection over the centuries," Aziraphale boasted - not only because he felt that this could perhaps ease the way for whatever might be between himself and Crowley. It was also the truth. "Humans do create some of the most beautiful literature worshipping eroticism and the joys of the flesh."

Crowley swallowed visibly and Aziraphale only felt a little bad about carrying on. Just a tad bit.

"There is such a fine line between lust and love, my friend, would you not agree?" he asked.

Crowley looked like he'd been hit with something heavy, and Aziraphale realised that perhaps he'd been going a little too fast again. Goodness, was this how Crowley had felt when he'd been the one to hold back? He obviously owed the good man an apology.

"I mean," Aziraphale backtracked. "On a theoretical level, of course. Humans quite often mix the two together to the point where one can hardly tell which is which."

Crowley nodded slowly, looking a little more at ease.

Aziraphale let out an inaudible sigh. Saved. He wanted so much to push, but he wasn't entirely sure how much he could push without doing more harm than good. He did wonder why on Earth Crowley was holding back now.

Swallowing a sigh, Aziraphale let their conversation go back to more mundane topics, wondering all along if he should be pushing this, or perhaps just accept that it would lead him nowhere trying to push things along at a faster pace.

It wasn't helping his libido, though. He'd been right, letting himself go down that road meant opening a door he could no longer close. Burying himself in his books when Crowley wasn't around only served to distract him so much.

Any innocent little line would leave him distracted, and one night he's foolishly opened a Wilde book, and then spent the next hour pacing the floor, telling himself that it wasn't normal for a being his age to be so obsessed with the need for physical release.

His human body did not agree with him at all. Of course.

That night he'd ended up coming twice, eventually laid out on the couch that Crowley always sat on when he was there and on the brink of not caring at all. It was so very vexing!

Cold showers didn't work, stern talks to himself even less so.

He vowed he wouldn't do it again, at least not on the couch. Especially not when a few nights later, Crowley was lounging on it again.

Aziraphale had cleaned it. Several times, both the human way as well as using a small miracle to make sure that the old thing was as clean as it had ever been. And he might have gone a little overboard, because when Crowley sat down, he made a face.

"Spring cleaning a bit hard, angel?" he asked, patting the couch. "I feel like it's going to squeak and all that's missing to make it perfect for a 50s American lifestyle magazine is the plastic cover."

"Ah," Aziraphale said, casting about for anything to say. "I spilled hot chocolate on it the other night, and it wouldn't come out. I should have considered that using a miracle on it would make you uncomfortable."

Crowley snorted and kicked his shoes off before pulling his legs up onto the couch. "You know I'm just teasing, right?" He twisted his body a bit and slid down into a half seated position that could not be comfortable for anyone else. "I know what your miracles smell and feel like, they have a comfortably familiar feel to me."

"Ah," Aziraphale said again. "Good. That's… good… to know." He coughed and offered Crowley the bottle of red.

They drank in silence for a few minutes - nothing out of the ordinary for them, but Aziraphale felt his thoughts kept circling around the fact that Crowley knew what his miracles felt like. And it brought back the memory of Crowley half growling, half sneering at him while telling him that he knew what Aziraphale smelled like.

Heat pooled in the pit of his stomach and he settled in for an evening of feeling low key uncomfortably turned on. He wasn't even sure what they were talking about, his thoughts kept scattering whenever he didn't force them to focus.

"Are you alright, angel?" Crowley eventually asked, his sunglasses long since put aside, amber eyes focused on Aziraphale. "I feel like you're only partly here."

"Oh, um, ah, just…" Aziraphale snapped his mouth shut.

Crowley raised an eyebrow at him.

Huffing, Aziraphale got to his feet, no reason, no destination in mind. "Something's been weighing on my mind lately," he said before he could stop himself. They were both comfortably buzzed, but Aziraphale knew neither of them would bring it up if they were fully sober. He eyed the spot next to Crowley and considered what might happen if he sat down and took Crowley's hand and had the bloody talk![7]

"Feeling a little adrift now that we don't have any 'jobs'?" Crowley asked. "I know I do. Sometimes. I mean, I don't miss head office, at all, but… you know."

Aziraphale aborted his destination - sitting on the couch and taking Crowley's hand was probably not a good idea right now. Feeling even more out of sorts, he sat back down in his chair, taking a sip of his wine.

This talk was perhaps overdue as well. It wasn't like they weren't in the same boat. "I… you're right, I don't miss head office and while I enjoy my books, the lack of purpose…" Aziraphale trailed off. He'd been so focused on his attraction to Crowley lately that he'd barely felt the lack of purpose.

Had he simply attached his purpose to Crowley instead? Was that why he hadn't felt the lack of missions so keenly? And obviously not as keenly as Crowley had. The initial sweet burning in his stomach turned sour.

Crowley shrugged. "It's not that I can't amuse myself, you know, but it's gotten a bit boring as well."

Aziraphale squished the urge to get up to go to Crowley, to put his arms around him and hold him, because he looked lost, but if thinking of him while touching himself was a slippery slope, hugging would be an open trapdoor in the floor under his feet.

"I'm glad you're here, angel," Crowley said, his usual attitude gone, his eyes earnest, a small, soft and unfamiliar smile curving his lips. "Wouldn't be any fun on my own."

Aziraphale met his gaze and smiled, feeling the love swell in his chest, unspoken, unacted upon, while the lust in the pit of his stomach shrivelled. He couldn't make a move now, could he? If he did and he pushed Crowley away, where would it leave the demon then? He'd all but said it, that Aziraphale anchored him.

Bugger.

And this was how it went on for the next two months. They spent more time together. At first, a few times a week, then more frequently, until they were in each other's company nearly daily.

Aziraphale loved it. They were so comfortable with each other they'd just sit in the same room, mostly Aziraphale's bookshop, Crowley on his phone, Aziraphale with a book. If the store was open, Aziraphale would turn a corner and find Crowley either napping or riling up people online on his phone.[8]

At the same time it tore at him from the inside. In the pit of his stomach was the lust that would not be put to rest. He'd opened his box, hadn't he? Like the fabled Pandora, he'd foolishly done so and now he had let Lust out, and Lust refused to let go of him, clawing at his insides, at his chest, when he tried to rest, when he tried to work, everywhere, all the time, like a slow burning hellfire that would eventually consume him from the inside.

They still went out, even more frequently now. And it was one such evening that Aziraphale felt at his worst, like a mess. Like he couldn't quite string anything together.

They had spent the evening at the Savoy, walking home to the bookshop. A stroll, a leisure walk. So in tune with each other that all Aziraphale could think of was how much he wanted to reach out and hold Crowley's hand.

He was so focused on not giving into it, that he didn't see the car turning the corner as they crossed the road.

"Angel!" Crowley's fingers dug into his arm, like five talons embedding themselves in his flesh as he pulled Aziraphale back off the road.

The car blared its horn and Aziraphale finally realised he'd been so far gone that he hadn't been paying attention at all.

"What has gotten into you?" Crowley hissed, hand still like a burning band of iron around Aziraphale's upper arm, hot enough to burn through layers and layers.

"I'm… I'm sorry," Aziraphale said, staring at him, then at the surrounding, realising they were nearly at the bookshop. "Would you mind terribly if we call it a night, my friend? I do feel a little out of sorts tonight."

"If you're sure?" Crowley sounded a little disappointed, but there was an undercurrent of worry there as well. And his grip was still strong around Azirpahale's upper arm.

Londonners passed them by, flowing around them like water around two rocks in the river. For a few long moments, they just stood there, staring at each other. To Aziraphale it felt like a small eternity.

Crowley had never been all that good at concealing his emotions and reactions, and this evening was no different. There was a minuscule downward twitch at the corner of his mouth, then a thinning of the lips. Aziraphale had no doubt that if he could have seen Crowley's eyes, he would have witnessed the hurt and a look so lost that Aziraphale knew he'd have fallen to his knees in the middle of the street and begged for forgiveness. For the first time ever, Aziraphale was glad Crowley wore his sunglasses in public.

Then Crowley apparently realised that he was still clinging to Aziraphale and let go rather abruptly.

Aziraphale told himself that it didn't hurt. It was just a habit. Don't touch, don't lean, don't let anyone know or see. And he was beginning to wonder if what Crowley felt for him was anything but a deep friendship, because this was going nowhere. Perhaps this was simply Crowley thinking he was putting more into it than he'd meant to. Acknowledging that it could be misread as something else. Something more.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" Crowley raised his voice a little at the end, making it a question more than a statement. He stood with his hands in his pockets, aiming for cool and detached, but the tension of his shoulders told a different story. One of Crowley perhaps thinking he wasn't welcome.

Aziraphale opened his mouth to ask for a day to himself, but then nodded. It wasn't Crowley's fault that Aziraphale was a mess. He could not let the poor man think he was to blame. Especially if he wasn't amenable to Aziraphales's advances.

"Yes, do come by whenever you feel like it," he said, truth so deeply rooted. Because as much as this was driving him to distractions, not seeing Crowley would be worse.

And that was it, Aziraphale most certainly didn't stay at the door, watching the Bentley pull out into the evening traffic and disappear in the direction of Mayfair.

A cup of hot chocolate greeted him when he sat down at his desk, the door locked, and he finally allowed himself to consider the whole situation.

Crowley loved him. There was really no doubt about it, but it was possible that he wasn't interested in Aziraphale in a carnal way. A very real possibility considering how he'd pulled back every time Aziraphale had thought he might have an opening.

The fact that Aziraphale was by now incapable of not thinking about Crowley in a carnal way was his problem and his alone. If Crowley ever knew, he'd feel guilty - he might claim otherwise, but he would, you didn't know someone for 6,000 years without knowing what made them tick.[9]

So Aziraphale had to put a lid on his emotions and his lust. Everything that he associated with Crowley, how the demon made him feel. The attraction, the want, the need to be constantly near him and the damning _itch to touch_.

He considered a variety of minor miracles, but none of them would really do the job. So, self control, then, and perhaps, something he hadn't been willing to do so far. Angels and demons were sexless by definition, but Aziraphale had made an effort to feel a little closer to humans by actually allowing his body to have its sex, and had made the effort of having the corresponding genitalia. He'd tried it out of curiosity centuries back and had, quite frankly liked the way it felt and how his body reacted to having it, and had simply left it like that.

Unfortunately, it had also meant dealing with the urges that came with it. He'd be sorry to see it go and he'd probably need to adjust his clothes as well, to fit a little better with it gone. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and willed it away.

At first it felt odd, but he'd get used to it, right? He'd started out without human genitalia, so he could definitely go back to not having it again.

Piece of cake.

And now he had a craving for chocolate cake, just because. Not because he felt he was missing anything else.

The next day he felt plenty more in control of himself, even if he felt perhaps a little less energetic than before. It wasn't due to the lack of genitalia, of course, but he did feel like he was missing something essential.[10]

That ache it caused, he pushed into the back of his mind.

And all through the day, with Crowley hanging about again, he knew his body was behaving a little better, though not as well as he'd hoped. It was as if the urges were still there, but perhaps he needed time? It hadn't even been a day since he'd changed his body to its sexless default.

If Crowley suspected anything, he wasn't mentioning it. He was his usual self, even if Aziraphale felt he was watching him closer than normally.

At the end of the night, Aziraphale was convinced that he was a little more in control, even if Crowley looked even more worried. And Aziraphale only knew this because he knew the little cues, the slight frown when Crowley thought he wasn't watching, the pursing of the lips.

The lips that he was most certainly not looking at.

The next day was much the same, though Aziraphale told himself that it had become a little easier to do. He was even fairly sure that Crowley attempted to flirt with him once or twice, but he didn't fall for it. He had shut this 'thing' off for good. For the best, for the both of them.

A week went by like this and whenever any doubt crept up on Aziraphale during the night, he pushed it away and told himself not to be stupid. It was back to the usual interactions, even if they were still frequent enough to be nearly every day.

On Thursday night, Crowley narrowed his eyes as he was saying his goodbyes. He placed his hand on Aziraphale's shoulder, pushing his sunglasses up to look him in the eye. He frowned, fidgeted, then squeezed Azirpahale's shoulder, before letting go and leaving.

Aziraphale merely smiled at him, feeling that this was something he could get used to. He didn't think about how warm his shoulder was - still - half an hour later. He just sat at his desk, staring unseeingly at the book in front of him. If asked, he wouldn't be able to say which book it was, but it wasn't important anyway.

He hummed tunelessly to himself.

And the night went on. If London seemed quieter to his senses than before, then perhaps there was a simple explanation he wasn't considering. Normally he'd feel the love and affection of the population in general, but this night it all seemed muted, like sound through a wall, like food without taste.

At some point, in the early hours before the sun would come out, there was a racket at his door, and Aziraphale turned to go to the front of the shop. He normally didn't have any problems with ruffians and the like, but if someone was trying to-

He managed two steps before he was nearly bowled over by Crowley, backing him up against the nearest bookshelf.

Aziraphale stared first at one hand, then the other - both wrinkling his shirt where they were bunching it up.

Then he looked at Crowley, who looked absolutely wrecked. His hair was in disarray, sticking out in ways that were most certainly not fashionable. His jacket was askew and his shirt was wrinkled.

"Did something happen?" he asked carefully. Perhaps Heaven or Hell were not leaving them alone after all.

Crowley opened his mouth. Shut it. Opened it again. And then the words came. "Did something happen?! I should be asking you that."

This time Aziraphale frowned. "Nothing has changed since you left earlier," he said, wondering why Crowley seemed so upset then.

Crowley let go of him, but he didn't step back. And Aziraphale felt no need to move away from him. It was ever so intimate like this and if Crowley was so upset, he wasn't going to just wave it away.

"I can feel when you're distraught, you idiot, like I know when you're in trouble!" Crowley gestured wildly. "And I realised you were upset every time you'd been around me. I thought…"

"You know when I'm…" Aziraphale said, blinking rapidly. Now _that_ he hadn't expected, though it did explain a few things.

"It's a simple little demon miracle, angel, don't fret or get upset." Crowley rolled his eyes.

"I'm not fretting," Aziraphale said, a little annoyed.

Crowley made a face. "I know you, you're upset," he argued.

Aziraphale frowned.

"Since the other day it's been harder. It's like you've closed a door," Crowley tried to explain.

He was still wearing his sunglasses and Aziraphale was oddly happy that he was. He wasn't sure he wanted to see those expressive eyes. If he did, he'd cave, he'd be soft and his resolve would break.

"Angel, don't shut me out - you're all I have." Crowley took a deep breath, held it and then let it out in a huff. "You're the only one I want to have." He stopped, a flush colouring his cheeks. "That didn't come out right." 

Aziraphale couldn't help a small giggle bubbling up from the depth of his body. It wasn't funny, but it kind of was? He knew Crowley hadn't meant it that way, but for a small moment, the tension broke and Aziraphale would take that if it was all he was getting. He'd felt like he couldn't breathe, like he'd been restricted, like his vessel was a size and a half too small to contain him.

"Bastard," Crowley muttered, but his lips were curving up into a familiar grin. "Now, tell me what you've done, because I know you've done _something_."

"I was making you uncomfortable," Aziraphale said before he could stop himself. And then he wanted to sink into the floor, mortified. He hadn't meant to say that!

"You- wha- eh." Crowley cocked his head to the side. "Say that again?"

Aziraphale let the old bookshelves behind him take a bit more of his weight. They'd hold. "I was going through something, some... " God, he wanted to say emotions, but that might make it worse. "I had a little crisis, and realised that I was making a mess of our friendship."

"And what. Did. You. Do?" Crowley asked slowly, reaching up and putting a hand on either side of Aziraphale's shoulders.

Aziraphale looked into the dark lenses and then away. He wasn't going to look at his own reflection. Not like this. "I allowed myself a moment of weakness and let myself go down a road I shouldn't have."

Crowley made a hissing noise and reached up, removing his sunglasses, dropping them carelessly off to the side. "Look at me, angel," he demanded.

Aziraphale bit his lower lip and tried to fight the command.

"Please," Crowley added. So much softer.

The bastard.

Aziraphale finally looked up and steeled himself. "I have been allowing myself inappropriate thoughts and I am aware that I may have made you ill at ease."

Crowley opened his mouth, then snapped it shut again. "What did you do?"

"It is not your problem to deal with," Aziraphale said, straightening his back and shoulders. "I had to struggle with my feelings," he continued. "I have decided that my unwelcome lust must be kept under control."

"You shut yourself away," Crowley said, voice barely above a whisper. "You didn't just shut the lust away, you utter arse!"

Aziraphale swallowed hard. He hadn't given it that much thought, he hadn't wanted to, but Crowley wasn't wrong. He couldn't lie to Crowley - to himself, perhaps, but not to Crowley.

"And who the hell said it was unwelcome?" Crowley sounded like Aziraphale had just claimed the Earth was flat.

Aziraphale smiled to himself. "I was making you uncomfortable."

Crowley raised an eyebrow and stared at him in utter surprise. "How did you get that idiotic idea?"

"It was logical," Aziraphale said, feeling a little defensive. "We'd barely touch, brush against each other and you'd pull away like you'd been scalded."

Crowley's frown turned a little sheepish. "I was afraid I was going too fast for you still, angel."

Aziraphale shook his head. "That can't have been it."

"Why not?"

"I'd have known, Crowley, I am a being of love. I am sure you love me like a friend, and perhaps, once, as more, but I shouldn't have expected-" he trailed off when Crowley shook his head and made a distressed noise.

He leaned his head down to rest it against Aziraphale's shoulder. "I know what it feels like when someone shuts their emotions so far away, they become a trapped animal, because I made that mistake years ago." He put a hand on Aziraphale's chest.

Aziraphale felt his treacherous heart beat a little faster.

"Let it out again, angel, please. I caused myself the same kind of pain more than a century ago, please at least learn from my mistake," Crowley begged.

Aziraphale drew in a hard breath, realising his folly when all it awarded him was his nostrils filled with the familiar scent of Crowley: a little burnt, musky, like soil wet from a summer shower.

"When?" he asked quietly.

"After that stupid fight in St. James' Park," Crowley muttered. He lifted his head again, meeting Aziraphale's eyes. "And I repeat, don't make the same mistake I did. I came to my senses, but it left me second guessing myself for a very long time." He stared at Aziraphale for a moment, then leaned in and touched his lips lightly to his.

For a moment or two, Aziraphale didn't move, didn't feel anything. Then a hairline fracture in his carefully crafted defenses appeared. Just the slightest breach, but as with most finely constructed barriers, it was all it took. The fracture became more, became a jagged edged crack.

Someone made a small breathless noise and Aziraphale realised it had been him. It just bubbled up from somewhere in the vicinity of his chest. Without a second thought, he buried his hands in Crowley's shirt and held on.

Tilting his head a little, he opened his mouth and pressed the tip of his tongue between Crowley's lips. He swallowed the startled cry and slid his hands down to Crowley's hips, pulling him forward.

The cracks in his defenses made the last of Aziraphale's resolve crumble like an old wall would fall at the hand of wear and tear of time itself.

With any semblance of defense gone, to Aziraphale it was like tearing the lid off a box.

The chaste kiss became a lot more intense and it was all Aziraphale could focus on. The way their mouths fit together, the unfamiliar taste, slightly metallic and with a hint of coffee that he was getting from Crowley. This was the moment Aziraphale realised that he'd already stepped off the edge and there was no going back; his inconvenient bouts of lust had become a roaring tidal wave.

His body shifted and the smoothness, he'd told himself he'd grow accustomed to again, gave way to the familiar feel of male genitalia, his cock hardening so fast he felt dizzy. And even faster when he felt the answering bulge rubbing against him.

Crowley broke the kiss with a gasp and Aziraphale took a moment to stare at the pale column of his neck, deciding that yes, well, since _someone_ had opened the bloody Pandora's box of lust, he'd take this as well. He leaned in and put his mouth against the soft skin, nipping at it.

"Fuck, angel, you weren't just holding out on me, were you?" Crowley gasped. "You've been repressing this for ages."

"Millennia," Aziraphale mouthed against Crowley's skin. "I may not have allowed myself to think it, but it was always there."

"I know," Crowley moaned. "I got so used to taking it glacially slow, that I may have pa-panicked when you suddenly seemed available." His voice stuttered as Aziraphale bit into the tendon where neck and shoulder met.

Aziraphale let his hands slide along the waistband of Crowley's trousers and up his back, feeling the heat of skin just under the thin layer.

"I thought you'd moved on," Aziraphale confessed, running his hands down over Crowley's back, down to cup his backside and squeeze. Something that earned him a thrust hard enough to bump him against the bookshelf again.

Not that he cared.

Crowley pulled back for a moment to meet his eyes. "Tell me we're on the same page now." It was almost pleading.

Aziraphale refused to reply, just squeezed even harder. And that was apparently all Crowley needed, before he shivered and shuddered against Aziraphale. He held on while Crowley fought to catch his breath.

Crowley nipped at his neck and then slid down his front, Aziraphale losing his rather nice grip on his arse. Not that he had time to complain. Not as Crowley, on his knees, undid Aziraphale's trousers and pulled them down.

When Aziraphale finally felt he could look down without coming at the very sight, he found Crowley looking up at him, the fly of Aziraphale's trousers undone, the bulge of his erection straining against his underwear - such an obscene and enticing scene.

"You thought I'd moved on? I waited 6,000 years for you - I would have waited another six if I had to." He pulled Aziraphale's trousers and underwear halfway down his thighs. "I wouldn't have liked it, but I'd have waited." And with that, he broke eye contact and unceremoniously went down on Aziraphale.

"Fuck," Aziraphale muttered, eyes wide as he watched Crowley press far enough forward that his lips touched the fist he'd made around the root of Aziraphale's cock. Pulling back and off, nothing had ever looked more decadent and filthy and beautiful as he did.

"Did you just say 'fuck', angel?" Crowley asked, eyes wide with delight.

Aziraphale braced himself against the bookshelves, feeling the books shift behind his back. "Really, you choose to ask me-" he began, feeling a little put out.

Then Crowley laughed, freely and happy, and swallowed him down again.

Azirpahale had no idea how he'd intended to finish the sentence. Nor did he care.

It took very little for him to feel the crest of his orgasm. It was so much better than his own hand, it was so much better than any of his fantasies. The tight hold that Crowley had on the root of his cock, the way his lips were a tight seal around the shaft and the inhuman way he was applying suction that brought Aziraphale over the brink between one blink of an eye and the next.

It wasn't easy to slide down the bookshelves, but Aziraphale somehow managed and there, at the end, was Crowley catching him - as he always had been.

"I've been a bit stupid," Aziraphale confessed, mouth pressed against the soft skin of Crowley's neck.

"Probably no more than I have," Crowley admitted. He rubbed his hand up and down Aziraphale's back.

It was nice. And comforting.

"You're back to normal," Crowley mumbled.

Aziraphale wasn't so stupid he didn't know what Crowley meant. This was no time to play coy. "For how long did you do it to yourself?" he asked.

Crowley went still for a moment, then he started running his fingers through Aziraphale's hair. "I was so angry and felt so stupid after our argument - I went to sleep for decades. Then I woke up and knew you were in danger."

Aziraphale did the math and closed his eyes. "The church."

"The church," Crowley agreed.

"It was stupid - you could've been hurt - the idiocy of walking on consecrated ground." Aziraphale tried to sound scolding, but he didn't quite manage.

"You needed me," Crowley said quietly.

Aziraphale didn't even try to argue. "I did - I do - I always will."

Crowley let out a watery chuckle and Aziraphale wasn't so mean he'd make him lift his head to witness the tears. He could feel them against his own neck.

"Next time just ask," Crowley mumbled, a little sleepy.

"I could say the same," Aziraphale said without heat.

"You're the smart one, angel. I just panic and mess shit up," Crowley muttered.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. "Don't be an idiot - well, be one if you must, but be mine, then."

Crowley snorted against his neck, but there was a small nod of consent.

Aziraphale closed his eyes and upended his Pandora's box, leaving it, hinges torn off, in the middle of the whole glorious mess that was his love and lust for Crowley, intertwined. Every feeling, every little emotion he felt for him and all the ones he could feel emanating from the demon.

A beautiful mess, but it belonged to _them_ and he didn't really want it any other way.

The end.

* * *

1Much to his pleasure, not burned, and with a new-smell-of-fresh-coat-of-paint to it.Return to text

2One might think that the demon Crowley would have had similar thoughts, and one would be right. However, he'd gotten no further than realising that Aziraphale seemed to prefer his body with the parts fitting its gender, and then very carefully put those thoughts very far away, lest he be tempted to touch.Return to text

3Perhaps Aziraphale should have realised the depth of his feelings a long time ago, because everything always came down to protecting Crowley. When he smiled at Crowley and realised he shouldn't. The deeply hidden thought of "What if someone sees? What would Heaven or Hell do to Crowley?"Return to text

4He didn't dare think about the possibility of Crowley perhaps having lost interest. He couldn't have. Oh God, he hoped he hadn't.Return to text

5It should be mentioned that God felt it was about time Her angel took his body for a spin, but what was a mere 6,000 years to a divine being like Her? Though quite frankly, even She felt this slow burn was a bit much.Return to text

6He had an extensive library that would tell him cold baths and such would work. Anyone who has ever experienced lust would be shaking their heads at this.Return to text

7It was possible that if Aziraphale did this, he'd make an utter mess of Crowley. The demon, while very fond of his angel, and very much in love, was not as suave as he would have liked the world to think. Of course there was a chance that Crowley might take it the way it was meant, but that was only a 1 in 999,999 chance. It lacked that last little bit to make it absolutely work; the 1 in a 1,000,000 chance.Return to text

8Something Aziraphale didn't quite understand, but it seemed to entertain Crowley and from what he could understand, Crowley mostly went for people he felt had earned his scorn.Return to text

9This is the point where you, the reader, would be exclaiming 'bullshit' and you'd be perfectly right to do so.Return to text

10Angels did not fall ill, but since Aziraphale was a being of love, created to celebrate it, honour it, it was possible that in sealing what he'd perceived as lust away, he'd done more harm than good.Return to text


End file.
